Noah.
>>I'm sorry about yesterday. I overreacted.
>>Can we talk?
Ever the communicator. James swallowed his first bite of sandwich and considered whether or not he should respond. Part of him wanted to resolve the unresolved tension between them. That was Lady Goodfellow's teachings that still banged around in the back of his mind. James tried very hard to be the good Catholic boy that she had raised. Even if he didn't believe in God anymore, people were still dazzled by his ability to recite even the most obscure prayers. There were other teachings in his mind, of course, which held Lady Goodfellow's good Catholic boy at bay.
These were the teachings of the enigmatic Father Alabaster. They whispered like the devil on James' shoulder.
Ignore him, they said, he doesn't deserve your time if he doesn't believe.
Just because he doesn't believe mean that it isn't real.
†††
James was on day three of his three day suspension. He would be returning on Thursday with his head down and a rehearsed apology for the headmaster, at Lady Goodfellow's request. He had been recommended 10 Hail Mary's for his outburst at Tuesday's confessional and was considering whether or not he should go to tomorrow's confessional as well, considering he still didn't feel an ounce of guilt about Fowler's broken nose.
During his time in exile, Uma had provided him with notes. These notes were much denser than James had expected, written in the most academic German he had ever seen. James also noted that away from school, when Uma returned, his German improved dramatically.
James had been instructed to reorganize the Convent's library on his last day. Some of the books had been misplaced and some had been taken without being properly checked out, which meant James was walking up and down the dormitory halls following leads from the nuns about who had taken what from the library. His walk had brought him into a perpendicular path with Father Alabaster, colliding with him because his nose had been mostly buried in a legal pad with scribbled names and room numbers.
James looked up to the Father, taking in his perpetually tanned skin and freckles, the way his auburn hair framed his face. His hair was made for headbanging and rumor had it that Father Alabaster had been a rockstar before he became a priest. Father Alabaster gingerly dusted the front of his cassock, acidic green eyes falling upon James with interest. Immediately, James felt his face warm under the scrutiny and he avoided his gaze. The topic of many nights in the confessional had been his growing and complicated attraction to the same sex. They were mostly harmless crushes and flutters of the heart, but James was certain that one night in the confessional, when he hadn't been paying attention, Father Alabaster had been the priest he confessed to.
"James." Father Alabaster said, his voice rumbled like a storm. James wondered if its rasp came from screaming into a microphone or the half pack of cigarettes he smoked every day.
"Father Alabaster." James responded courteously, "I thought you had taken time away."
"I did. I just returned." Father Alabaster said, "I'm on my way to see Mr. Eyvind. What's that you got?"
James looked down at his legal pad, "I've been sent on a wild goose chase for missing books."
"Oh?" Father Alabaster said, seeming amused, "What books have gone missing?"
James rattled them off and Alabaster listened, smiling to the nuns that passed by, who giggled and blushed under the intensity of his eyes. When James finished his list, Father Alabaster ran his fingers through the copper threads that fell to his shoulders and said:
"I believe you will find most of those titles in Mr. Eyvind's room. Why don't you go with me?"
James had been inside the sick ward exactly twice. Once for himself and once when Lady Goodfellow had gotten food poisoning. Jan Eyvind was perpetually in the sick ward, his lips were pale and often cracked and bleeding. His eyes were blue and if they caught the light, they appeared to have a red center. Doctors were baffled by his condition. According to Father Alabaster, they thought it was tuberculosis at first, but then everyone who came in contact with Jan would have gotten sick with it, but they never did. The next diagnosis was Addison's Disease, but it didn't explain the coughing fits which often ended with blood splattered in handkerchiefs. This was eventually attributed to bronchitis and Jan Eyvind was prescribed a life of leisure by the sea or in the mountains, which is how the sickly man found himself here.
Jan smiled up to Father Alabaster, his eyes bleary when the priest sat at his bedside and provided him with a cup of rose tea. James was at once struck by their familiarity, the way that Father Alabaster leaned in without fear of Jan's strange sickness. He was saying something in a language that James didn't recognize immediately. Was it Welsh? It might have been, supposedly Jan had been imported from their sister convent in Wales.
"Oh yes," Jan said, his voice sounded wet, "I do have those. They're--" Jan waved his hand, thin and frail fingers pointing vaguely towards the coffee table and arm chair across from his bed.
Sure enough, stacked high were roughly two dozen books.
"I'm sorry, I meant to have Uma send them back, but," Jan's laugh sounded more like a cough, "I forgot when they came home from school a few days ago. I hadn't ever seen them so radiant, they were very happy."
James felt his cheeks warm again, wondering if his breaking of Fowler's nose had been what inspired Uma's joy. Father Alabaster caught the pinkish color and James immediately looked away, ashamed yet again. Father Alabaster leaned close to Jan again and whispered something to him. Jan blinked slowly, long, spidery lashes sticking together. And then he was smiling, suddenly seeming quite pleased.
"Oh, I didn't know." Jan said, "You needn't look so guilty, James-- may I call you James?-- You're allowed to want things."
James looked helplessly between Father Alabaster and Jan, "Did you just tell him about--?"
Father Alabaster laughed, it felt more alive and substantial than Jan looked, "It's just as Mr. Eyvind says, James. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're sure to have plenty of admirers, I have plenty myself."
"Oh pshaw!" Jan said, the color coming back to his skin for just a moment, "Don't listen to him, James, he's already so full of himself."
James stared at him. His religious upbringing was suddenly at war with the two men before him. They complimented each other so well, Father Alabaster a dark and handsome devil with his copper hair and bronze skin and immaculate uniform, Jan Eyvind a delicate angel, with his floss-like hair and papery skin, the cream colored robe he wore underneath layers of heavy blankets.
"I have to go." James said suddenly. He was not himself when he all but ran down the hall and the winding staircase, bursting into the bright green courtyard. His heart kept slamming against his ribcage, red hot shame like molten lava dripping down his back.
He caught sight of Lady Goodfellow just exiting the greenhouse. She saw him and smiled, offering a little wave. James couldn't look at her. Instead he ran passed the chapel to the horse stables. Their heads all turned to look at him, big dark eyes blinking slowly. James slumped down on the bench by the hayloft. The thundering of his heart showed no sign of stopping and he felt suddenly that he would explode.
He wondered what Father Alabaster looked like naked. He wondered what he looked like alone with Jan Eyvind. He wondered if Jan Eyvind's weak little body could even handle someone as alive as Father Alabaster. Horror and disgust filled him and his eyes burned hot with tears. Now he had two sins to confess tomorrow, one, his lack of guilt over breaking Fowler's nose and two, his desire to see Father Alabaster and Mr. Eyvind, both of them together.
James hurriedly scrubbed his eyes, his nose had clogged up with snot. He felt an immense amount of self loathing in this moment. Perhaps Lady Goodfellow was right, perhaps he wasn't worthy at all for the grace the church had given him if this is what his thoughts always turned to. Following his disgust came red hot anger. How dare Father Alabaster reveal his confession to Jan Eyvind, how dare Father Alabaster laugh at it as if it weren't a sin worthy of castration.
Well.
Maybe not castration.
"James?"
This was Lady Goodfellow's voice. She stood at the entrance of the stables, her dark brown skirt pulled up so that it wouldn't collect the dirt that covered the stable floors. James still couldn't look at her. He hated everything about himself in this moment, he wished that God would come down from the heavens and tear his flesh apart, stitching it back together into something worthy of the life he had been given. Lady Goodfellow advanced into the stables, she tentatively sat beside James, pulling him into a hug against her breasts. James hated it, but he didn't pull away, instead an ugly sob wretched from his throat.
"James, what on Earth is the matter?"
And James told her because he could not lie to Lady Goodfellow. Because she had been nothing but graceful to him. To his surprise, she did not think him disgusting. When he told her what Father Alabaster had done, he saw a foreign kind of terror in her eyes. It was not a rage directed at him which is why James found it fascinating. She marched to the sick ward, James trailing behind her desperately begging her not to confront him but it was already too late.
They met halfway in the stairwell and it was all furious spit and raised voices from there.
How dare you, she said, how could you dare?
Father Alabaster hadn't even been chastised, in fact, he was laughing again. It wasn't the lively laugh that he had given to Jan, it was cold and empty and frightening. Lady Goodfellow barely came up to Father Alabaster's shoulder and yet she seemed to loom over him in the stairwell. Her ash blond hair had gone wild, and the air felt charged with some unknowable energy.
Magic burst between the seams that stitched reality together, the threads sung like an off key harp. Father Alabaster's grin spread wide, he delighted in Lady Goodfellow's frustration. Chaos followed shortly after, flashes of brilliant gold and green light and both of them stumbling down the stairs while James stumbled after them, screaming and begging them to stop. They did not stop, the world had gone fuzzy around the edges and James was sure that someone must have heard them, that someone must be rushing to investigate.
A lone person stood at the top of the staircase, leaning weakly against the railing and looking down at Lady Goodfellow and Father Alabaster as they tumbled onto the first floor landing like a couple of mating snakes. The person opened their mouth and the world went black.
James was stood on an endlessly black plane, the ground was a mirror which reflected only him. A few feet away from him was Lady Goodfellow and Father Alabaster, frozen in place. Lady Goodfellow had her fingers wrapped around Father Alabasters fiery tresses. Jan Eyvind stood a few feet away from them, his flossy, colorless hair seemed to float around his person as if he had been plunged under water. Jan's eyes had gone from blue to red. He did not seem so frail here, he seemed infinite.
"That is," Jan's voice echoed impossibly through this mirror world, "quite enough."
James woke up.
†††
"We're here."
James blinked, looking up to see Uma looking down at him. Their eyes were dark and unknowable and James was comforted by them.
"Did I sleep the entire way?" James asked, standing and slinging on his backpack, leaning down to snatch up two of the duffle bags. Uma had the other backpack and duffle bag, along with their own hard suitcase.
"Were you dreaming?" Uma asked as they shuffled towards the sliding doors which would take them to the train platform.
James wasn't sure if it had been a dream. It felt too real to be a dream. It felt, in fact, like his life flashing before his eyes. James was reminded of his budding queerness, but he felt no shame for it now. He had been grateful, actually, that Father Alabaster had forced him to confront this part of himself. Had he not inspired Lady Goodfellow's rage, perhaps he would never have left the Convent. Perhaps he would have become a priest or maybe he would have even gone to school and met Noah and just lived the normal life that she clearly intended for him to.
Instead, James ignored Noah's message and waited with Uma for the van that would supposedly be coming to collect them.
"Is the Director coming to meet us?" James asked, watching the road.
Uma glanced at him, their hair and uniform seeming slightly rumpled, "He wanted to, but he was not feeling well last we talked. That was before we crossed country lines."
Soon enough, a white van pulled up to the curb where they were waiting, the doors emblazoned with the name of St. Mary's. The driver got out, an impressively tall and dark man his fro styled into spikes that made him look a little bit like a star burst. He exchanged a nod with Uma before coming around and pulling open the back door. Waiting for them there was Director Jan, looking more like a dead body than an alive one. He had a breathing apparatus over his mouth but James could see that he was smiling.
"James Sinclair Haas."
"It has been too long."
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